Haunted
by HunterJay
Summary: After reports of ghostly activity the Kirkwall crew explore Bartrand's old mansion and as is consistent with Hawke's terrible luck everything goes horribly awry. A re-telling of the Act 3 quest 'Haunted'.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Not mine and not making any money from it, which is really very sad when you think about it.

 **Haunted  
** _Chapter 1_

Hawke sighed dramatically. "And of course it has to be me because...?"

"You're a mage. You must know something about...weird shit," Varric pointed out, and damn if it wasn't hard to argue with that sort of logic.

"My father didn't exactly cover _hauntings_ while we were hiding from Templars and running for our lives," Hawke protested, more out of reflex than anything else. She knew it was only a matter of time before she agreed. "I suppose if worst comes to worst we can always resort to smashing something. That usually makes our problems go away."

Varric chuckled. "Thanks, Hawke. I knew I could count on you."

* * *

And that was how Hawke, Varric and three of their companions ended up stood outside Bartrand's old house in the teeming rain just before nightfall.

"I assume you have a key?" Aveline asked tersely. Fat raindrops bounced noisily off her armour and escaped strands of ginger hair plastered themselves to her forehead. "You know, when I became Captain of the Guard I foolishly believed my list of crimes would decrease..."

"Breaking and entering is hardly a crime, Big Girl," Isabela replied. Aveline's eyes narrowed and she opened her mouth, presumably to explain to Isabela why she was wrong in so many ways and probably to call her a whore just for good measure.

"All right!" Hawke forestalled her. She'd already had quite enough of their bickering on the walk through Hightown. Aveline huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. "Yes. Varric, key?"

Rather than open the door himself, Varric handed the key over to Hawke with a wry grin. "Ladies and mages first," he said, with a gallant sweep of his hand towards the door.

" _Such_ a gentleman," said Hawke. "Bianca is a lucky lady." Incidentally, Bianca was the only member of their party currently protected from the rain. As they'd been leaving the Hanged Man an hour earlier Varric had taken one look at the inclement weather and walked straight back to his room to retrieve some kind of covering for the weapon, all the time muttering darkly under his breath about rusty springs. The corner of her lip quirked upwards and she glanced at the other mage in their party.

"Oh, that's me too, right?" Merrill snapped to attention. "I mean...I am a mage and a girl too I suppose." At Isabela's raised eyebrow Merrill rushed on, "I _know_ I am a mage and a girl. Definitely. No supposing. I've checked."

"Oh for the Maker's sake can we just can on with it!" Avelina snapped. "I would like to actually get home and get some sleep tonight."

"Ooh tetchy today, are we?" said Isabela, sidling up to the Guard Captain with a sly look on her face. "What's wrong, Big Girl? Frustrated at work? Or frustrated at home? Donnic not using his weapon properly?" Aveline's eyes narrowed. "Not brandishing his sword enough? Polishing his own blade instead of-"

"Door's open!" Hawke announced. Isabela shot her a disappointed look but thankfully closed her mouth. Hawke knew she'd probably pay for this later; Isabela didn't want to be here at all and depriving her of her favourite source of amusement that didn't involve being naked was a good way of getting herself punished somehow...and not in the good way. Something about vanishing ghost ships and pirates being superstitious had been Isabela's excuse. Hawke wasn't entirely paying attention though because well...it was right after Isabela's favourite source of amusement that _did_ involve being naked.

Varric cleared his throat and Hawke's cheeks turned pink. Oops. Let her mind wander for a second there... and judging by the smirk on Isabela's face the woman somehow knew exactly what she was thinking about. It was like she had some kind of weird dirty thoughts sixth sense. Maybe that skill would come in handy with their ghost. Who could say?

She reached out for the door handle and beside her Merrill brought her staff forward, ready to cast protection spells at a moment's notice. She paused and then resolutely pushed the door swinging open and -

Nothing happened.

"Well that was anti-climactic," Isabela commented, pushing past Hawke and into the house.

Hawke and Varric exchanged a quick look before she shrugged her shoulders and followed the pirate inside, where Isabela was already wringing water out of her hair onto the dusty red carpet running through middle of the room.

"It's cleaner than the last time I saw it," Merrill said, closing the door behind her with a quiet _click_ and plunging the room into darkness. "Oops. I'll just..." Hawke pinched the bridge of her nose as Merrill rattled the door handle. "Please don't be alarmed but I can't get the door open."

Varric chuckled at the same time as Aveline audibly groaned. "Don't worry, Daisy. This is how all the best ghost stories start."

"Next time we decide to go exploring let's pick a mansion with more windows, shall we?" Hawke remarked, reaching behind her to withdraw her staff. She tapped it sharply on the ground and the jagged blue crystal flared into life, casting a rather eerie glow around the room. "Wonderful. I was _just_ thinking that this wasn't quite as creepy as I'd like it to be."

"At least it's dry in here," said Isabela as she threw an arm over an apologetic Merrill's shoulders. Then she grimaced and raised her free hand to pat her bandana. "Not that it matters anymore."

Truth be told they were all looking rather bedraggled.

"Let's just get this over with," said Aveline. Nobody dared argue.

Contrary to Merrill's assertion the mansion was not cleaner than it had been last time they'd been here and it now housed at least a third more spiders. House spiders though, Hawke was thankful to note. Not the dragon sized kind she'd run into on far too many occasions around Sundermount. The bloody things were a menace, dropping from the sky like rain. Giant, murderous, eight-legged rain. Give her the Coterie any day.

"I'll just go first then, shall I?"

"Said Hawke, ever the intrepid leader."

" _Varric_."

She shot Varric an annoyed glance but the dwarf was unrepentant. Then she sighed (because why bother fighting a losing battle) and began a slow walk down the hallway to the first door. If she remembered correctly it lead to the kitchen and if they were lucky Varric's buyers might have left something behind. She wasn't getting paid for this one and she damn well wanted a free meal out of it if it was an option. It wasn't an option, as it turned out.

They passed through the first two rooms without incident and unfortunately the mansion was just as dusty and dilapidated as Hawke remembered. Her nose twitched at the smell of disuse, growing stronger the further into the house they got. It was stuffy and cloying and claustrophobic. The sooner they could get out of this place the happier she'd be.

"The things I do for you, Varric," Hawke lamented once they reached the main corridor that ran around most of the house. The very _long_ corridor. It took Hawke a moment to realise that Varric hadn't replied yet. Hadn't even looked at her. "Varric?" she questioned.

"Hm what?" said the dwarf. He tilted his head to one side with a slightly glazed look in his eyes, though in the rather dull light coming from her staff everybody's eyes shone rather oddly. "Sorry. I thought I heard something. Music."

"I don't hear anything," said Isabela. She looked to Hawke who frowned and shook her head in confirmation. The only thing she could hear is their own footsteps across the old floorboards.

"That's hardly surprising given you'd have to shut your mouth for three seconds to hear anything beyond the sound of your own voice," said Aveline. _And here we go again_.

"Or maybe the gratuitous layers of steel protecting your sad virtue were grating together so loudly it distracted me?" Isabela shot back.

Aveline let out a humourless laugh. "The slattern using the word gratuitous to describe anything but herself?"

"Perhaps this little excursion would go a little quicker if we split up," said Hawke.

* * *

A dusty sort of heaviness hung in the air making Varric reluctant to make a sound as he, Isabela and Merrill crept down the hallway and yet no matter how lightly he tread the floorboards groaned ominously beneath his feet. He licked his lips and reached backwards over his shoulder just once to make certain Bianca was still exactly where she should be because haunted or not this place was giving him the creeps. Maybe it was just the slow but noticeable drop in temperature as they got further into the house that was setting him on edge. Whatever it was his companions seemed to be feeling the effects themselves if the way Isabela's eyes darted furtively around the room like she was just waiting for someone...or something...to jump out at them from the flickering shadows was anything to go by.

A loud _crash_ sounded from somewhere behind them. A door slammed shut.

"Just the wind," said Varric, unconvincing even to his own ears. His breathing sped up and he politely ignored the way Isabela had jumped at the sound.

"I'd very much like to go home now," said Merrill, her fingers twitching uselessly around the wooden staff clutched in her hand. "I don't think this house is haunted. Do you think this house is haunted? We should leave. The rats are probably missing me."

"Calm down, Kitten. It's probably a spirit playing tricks on us. We just need to find it so you and Hawke can throw a bit of magic around and then we'll be out of here in no time," said Isabela. It was a valiant attempt that would have been more persuasive if the woman's voice hadn't wavered as she spoke. If Varric didn't know better he'd say the pirate was unnerved and he wasn't sure if that thought made him feel better or worse about his own rapidly beating heart.

Merrill didn't respond and instead drew a little closer to Isabela; whether for comfort or protection though Varric wasn't sure. Either way he could hardly blame her considering the circumstances. He'd feel a lot better himself if Hawke and Aveline were still with them because if nothing else their esteemed Captain of the Guard was very good at taking hits meant for her comrades and her absolute dismissal of the possibility of a ghostly enterprise did wonders for his own nerves. If only that damn music would stop playing he was sure he'd fare better. It was somewhere out of reach but just close enough to tickle at the back of his skull like an itch that just wouldn't go away.

They came to another room and stopped. Varric glanced back at his companions and then reached forward to gently brush cobwebs away from the door handle, grimacing as the sticky white string clung to his fingers. He took a step forward to push open the door, but froze when the wood jumped away from his hand, swinging open with a loud groan.

"Uh..."

"Well that was a little unsettling," Isabela commented. She ushered Merrill forward, who reluctantly followed the implied orders with her staff held high.

Yellow light filtered into the room and Varric took up the rear, following the elf and the pirate over the threshold. The hairs on his arms began to prickle as a flood of chilled air surrounded him as though he'd been dropped into the Waking Sea. He breathed out and tried not to react to the puff of white fog that came from his mouth. Houses got this cold all the time. It was perfectly normal.

"Why are there so many of these creepy masks?" Merrill asked, wandering over to the corner of the room where no fewer than four Tevinter masks rested against the wall. "I wouldn't even want a single one...with their creepy, staring eyes. They look like they want something but I don't know what it is so I can't give it to them."

"They aren't exactly my cup of tea either," said Varric, eyes drifting over to a stack of old paintings. He moved over to them, picking his way through the broken shards of glass and debris littered around the floor.

"If you hung one outside your house it might scare away burglars," Isabela suggested.

Merrill looked thoughtful for a moment before her body shuddered with obvious disgust. "No, thank you. What if it scared me away too?"

"You've got me there," said Isabela, though it was clear she was no longer paying attention. Her head whipped around suddenly towards the door. "Did you hear that?"

Varric froze. "Hear what?"

"I don't hear anything," said Merrill, nervously.

"Ooh, I was afraid you were going to say that." Isabela kept her tone light but Varric could hear the tremble just beneath it. Before they'd left the Hanged Man the woman had put up a fuss about leaving; he just assumed it was out of laziness and he wasn't at all surprised when Hawke had coaxed her into joining them with the promise of her choice of entertainment for later that evening. Now, though, Varric was beginning to suspect there had been more to Isabela's reticence than just disinterest in the task. He hadn't seen her this wary since the day they'd finally tracked down the Qunari relic.

"What did you hear?" asked Merrill.

"Nothing." Varric looked at her sceptically and she put her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow. "Can we move on now? We've been here so long I feel I'm about to die of old age."

* * *

"So," said Hawke, glancing sideways at her grouchy companion as they traversed the dark hallway. "You appear to be in a particularly delightful mood this evening."

"Don't you start as well," Aveline warned. "I've had quite enough of this from the pirate whore."

Hawke shrugged her shoulders. "Very well. Keep your secrets. I was just curious as to why you chose to spend your night off traipsing around this rotten old house instead of catching up on your beauty sleep at home."

Aveline sighed and looked away. "Donnic's mother is in town."

Of all the responses Hawke had been expecting, that one definitely rested somewhere near the bottom of the list. "Donnic's mother?"

Hawke remembered both of Donnic's parents from Aveline's wedding. His father had been a small, kindly man with intelligent brown eyes just like his son's, Maker rest his soul. His mother however...well if Hawke was honest she'd spent half the wedding specifically avoiding the woman. She'd had that look in her eye, the one her own mother used to get when she was about to give somebody a stern telling off. Hakwe wasn't sure what crime she'd committed that had earned the woman's ire but she hadn't wanted to hang around to find out. She had watched from afar, however, and from what she could tell the woman was smart, strong and full of opinions. Reminded Hakwe a little of Aveline actually...which of course was a notion she had kept firmly to herself.

"Not just in town, actually. Staying in our home," Aveline continued.

Hawke nodded slowly as she processed this new information. "And that's a bad thing, I take it?"

"Yes," said Aveline. She ran a hand over her hair. "I mean no. Of course Donnic's mother is welcome to stay with us as often and for as long as she'd like."

"I'm sensing a _'but'_ coming on..."

"But if I have to hear one more crack about my ability to bear children at my age and with my high risk and _irresponsible_ job I'm going to stab something!"

Hawke's eyes widened. "Oh."

* * *

A strong gust of wind blew through the corridor, ruffling Varric's coat and rattling the odds and ends that still stood upright on side tables or against the walls. The ceiling above them creaked noisily as though something very large and very heavy moved above them.

"Probably just Aveline," said Isabela, though her hands twitched in the direction of her knives. "She's put on a few pounds since settling into her role as housewife."

"Has she?" Merrill asked absently. "I haven't noticed. It's hard to tell underneath all that armour."

The ceiling groaned again and Varric swallowed. "Well whatever it is I don't want to be here when it falls through the floor. Let's keep moving."

* * *

"Yes. _Oh_ ," Aveline ground out through gritted teeth.

"Well that's...not ideal," said Hawke. She was honestly surprised Donnic's mother was still in the land of the living after daring to suggest Aveline leave her precious guards in favour of popping out wailing babies. "What does Donnic have to say about this?"

"That's just it! He doesn't say a damn word," said Aveline. "That wily old bitch makes sure to keep her sly digs for when he's not around to hear them. When he's with us it never even comes up beyond the odd wistful comment about one day wanting grandchildren."

"I can see how that might...rub you the wrong way," Hawke said with a nod. They reached another door and Hawke pushed on it. Locked. They carried on walking. "What are you going to do?"

"I know what I'd like to do," Aveline grumbled.

"Now, now, Aveline," said Hawke with a grin, "Donnic would probably be most put out if you threw his mother from the top of Sundermount."

Aveline let out a humourless laugh. "Don't tempt me, Hawke. It's hard enough to refrain from violence as it is."

"How much longer is she staying?" asked Hawke.

"Maker only knows," said Aveline with a huff. "It wouldn't be too bad if I knew an end was in sight but I can hardly ask. I already told Donnic his mother was welcome to stay with us for as long as she needed to. Rookie mistake."

Hawke couldn't help but agree.

* * *

It was a small library, Varric deduced. One that clearly hadn't been touched since the dawn of time if the inch of dust coating every single book and cloying musty smell was anything to go by. He turned around to suggest they skip this room but stopped at the look on Isabela's face. Internally, he sighed, because really what could possibly be wrong this time? Then he followed the woman's gaze to a stack of leather-bound books. Leather-bound books that were not resting on the table like they should have been. Well, _shit_.

"Merrill," said Isabela, in a voice somewhat higher than her normal one. "Please tell me you're making those books float."

Merrill wrung her hands together nervously. "I would really like to but Hawke doesn't like it when I lie."

The books hung in the air and spun slowly as though dangling from an invisible string. The music in Varric's head got louder. He could almost make out a tune now.

Then they dropped to the table with a loud thud, slipping and then scattering haphazardly on the floor. Varric held back a muffled curse.

"Right well I think we're done with this room!" said Isabela. Before Varric could agree, dark, calloused fingers gripped at his shoulder and began to pull both he and Merrill quickly towards the door.

* * *

"This may be a stupid question," Hawke began, "but have you thought about talking to Donnic about all this?"

"And say what? 'Your mother keeps following me around the house and clucking her tongue like an angry hen every time she sees my armour'? When I say it out loud it sounds like I'm throwing a petty tantrum!" said Aveline.

"This clucking...are you sure it's from disapproval? It could well be Donnic's mother has contracted some kind of medical condition. Have you spoken to Anders about it?" Hawke suggested. She managed to keep her expression serious even when Aveline turned to glare at her.

"You aren't nearly as funny as you think you are."

* * *

Varric drew in a heavy breath. They hadn't quite _run_ from the menacing books, but they had taken a very brisk walk in the opposite direction with as much haste as was sensible. He shifted his shoulders to accentuate the comforting weight of Bianca at his back, though he wasn't sure how much good his trusty crossbow would be against incorporeal villains levitating furniture around.

"Do you think we got away?" asked Merrill. "It could have followed us and we wouldn't even know. Do you think we should go and find Hawke? Maybe she and Aveline have found something."

"A good idea, Daisy," said Varric. He glanced at Isabela, who nodded. "Hawke is probably already half way through killing whatever Fade monstrosity is causing all this trouble by now."

"Yes. She might need our help," Merrill agreed, looking relieved. "Okay. You can let go of my hand now, Isabela."

There was a short pause in which the corners of Isabela's mouth dropped into an uncomfortable frown. She slowly lifted up her arms and held out her hands. "Uh...Merrill. I'm not touching you."

* * *

Hawke was saved from having to deal with Aveline's ire as they arrived outside the door of the next room they were taxed with checking. It was already open a fraction so Hawke pushed it with her staff. And -

Nothing. _Again_.

"You know, I'm beginning to have serious doubts about this whole _haunting_ business," said Hawke.

Then the screaming started.

* * *

 **Author's Note(s):** So this re-telling of the Act 3 quest 'Haunted' is my attempt at writing something vaguely spooky leading up to Halloween. The plan is to release a chapter every Sunday from now until the 30th (might not always happen but that's my goal).


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Still not mine.

 **Haunted  
** _Chapter 2_

Hawke and Aveline abandoned their search and made their way towards the staircase. The shrieking had stopped but the unmistakable thunder of heavy footsteps drew closer towards them. Whatever had spooked her friends had done a wonderful job, really. She never thought she'd see the day that Isabela ran from a fight. With the exception of that unfortunate incident with the Tome of Koslun anyway. Actually, taking that into consideration there was already something of a precedent for Isabela running away from fights.

The banging was closer now and Aveline drew her sword.

As it turned out she needn't have bothered, because whilst her three friends raced around the corner as though an archdemon was nipping at their heels there was, in fact, nobody behind them. Merrill, who led the charge, spotted Hawke and stopped abruptly, causing Isabela to bump into her and almost sending them both sprawling to the dirty floor.

Hawke darted forward and caught Merrill by the arm as she stumbled.

"Problem?" Hawke asked, nonchalantly.

Varric, who had been trailing behind the two women, shot her a dark look as he struggled to catch his breath.

"Oh, Hawke," said Isabela, straightening herself up and looking down at her nails. She did an excellent job of pretending she, too, wasn't winded from her sprint across the house. "Fancy seeing you here. Have you and Man Hands been having fun?"

Before Hawke could reply, Merrill gripped at her forearms. "We saw a ghost!"

"Oh for goodness sake," Aveline muttered behind her.

"A ghost?" said Hawke, looking to Varric for confirmation. He gave a short, sharp nod before his gaze drifted to the wall, eyes confused and distant.

"Merrill, you're a blood mage!" said Aveline. She moved forward to join the group. "You willingly consort with demons on a regular basis and suddenly you're squeamish about a rogue spirit?"

"It isn't a spirit," Merrill argued. She let go of Hawke's arms and took a step back. "I mean...it could be a spirit. I don't think it is though. It doesn't feel at all like a spirit. Or a demon."

"Don't we have enough terrors roaming the world already without drawing inspiration from children's stories?" said Aveline. "There's no such thing as ghosts."

"Oh well I'm glad that's agreed on then," said Varric sarcastically. "Now if you could just go down and tell that thing that's been following us around for an hour that it doesn't exist we can pack up and go home."

"Why don't you just start from the beginning," said Hawke. Honestly, she felt more like a glorified babysitter than the Champion of Kirkwall sometimes. "Let's walk and talk, shall we? Aveline and I haven't finished checking the rooms up here."

Isabela sighed, sauntering closer to her. "You're so demanding sometimes."

"You like it when I'm demanding," Hawke pointed out, pleased that the pirate no longer looked quite as pale as she had a moment ago. Isabela raised a hand and patted Hawke's cheek just a little too hard.

"Only sometimes, sweet thing," she said, in a way that suggested now was most certainly not one of those times. That was fair, Hawke concluded, resisting the urge to rub her cheek which she was sure now bore a red mark.

Hawke turned around and gestured for them to follow her and began to lead the group back to the room she and Aveline had just left. Whatever it was that had traumatised her friends so was clearly not upstairs with them now, but for the sake of their sanity Hawke decided it best to move them away from the scary ghosts for the time being. Unfortunately, it was Merrill who took it upon herself to explain exactly what she, Isabela and Varric had encountered on the ground floor of the mansion.

"Well first there was some flying books...actually no. It was the wind first. It was very chilly. Did you feel the wind, Isabela?"

"Yes, Kitten."

"Or did the spooky slamming doors come first? Anyway, first of all Varric started hearing strange music-" Hawke glanced at the dwarf. Come to think of it he was looking rather pale. "-then all the banging above us started. That might have been you though."

"Perhaps Varric should tell the story," Aveline suggested with a terse look back at Merrill. "I'd like to be home before next year." The elf shot Aveline a hurt look but closed her mouth and slowed her pace so Varric could take her spot.

"And our mighty storyteller comes to the fore," said Hawke with a wry smile. A floorboard creaked beneath her. "When you begin your embellishments could you perhaps add a sea shanty? And some tavern wenches in dire need of rescuing."

"I already like where this is going. Throw in an oiled up sailor or three and you can count me in," said Isabela with interest. Varric, on the other hand, barely cracked a smile.

"There isn't much to tell you that Daisy hasn't already mentioned," he said. He tilted his head to one side as though listening for something. He didn't find it if the scowl on his face was anything to go by. " _Something_ was is those rooms with us and whatever it was didn't seem too friendly."

"Is anyone we meet in Kirkwall friendly?" Hawke asked. She'd meant it as a joke but as the words crossed her lips she considered for a moment the accuracy of it. Whether it be mages or Templars, nobles or the families living in Lowtown, everybody seemed to have a nefarious agenda. Lothering hadn't exactly been a bastion of truth and virtue but she used to be able to leave her home after dark and be at least forty percent sure she wasn't going to be attacked by mass groups of robbers and murderers that sprang up as if from nowhere. She'd once overheard a drunk patron of the Hanged Man speculating about Kirkwall's water supply being laced with lyrium. It was an interesting theory, although Hawke was more inclined towards there being some sort of hallucinogenic drug there instead. It would explain at least some of this city's insanity. "Except Jethan I mean. He was a little _too_ friendly."

"There's no such thing as _too_ friendly."

"You would say that, whore," said Aveline under her breath.

"It was with us from the beginning," Varric continued, as though he hadn't been interrupted. "Following us. Trying to mess with our heads."

"Succeeding too it seems," said Hawke. Varric nodded. "What makes you so sure?"

They had arrived outside the room she and Aveline had last looked around and Hawke walked past the closed door. She paused for a moment. Had that been shut when they'd left?

"I felt it," said Varric. His voice was much more serious than Hawke was used to and it made her a little uneasy. Varric's wryly amused approach to problem solving often served as something of an anchor for her. "It was there...watching us."

She saw Isabela shudder beside her and reached over to brush her fingers lightly over the woman's elbow as they rounded a corner.

"That isn't exactly concrete evidence," Aveline pointed out. "I'll concede that the levitating books was likely the work of a spirit, but the rest of it can easily be explained by the fact that we're wandering around a draughty old house in the middle of a storm. You're letting your overactive imagination run away with you." The _as usual_ was implied.

"You're probably right," said Varric derisively. "Weird shit never happens around Kirkwall. What _was_ I thinking." Even Aveline looked a little surprise at his tone then.

Not facing the group now, Hawke rolled her eyes. Who knew searching an old house would be the make or break point for her band of lunatics? She'd always assumed it would be Fenris and Anders locked in a battle to the death that would destroy everything she'd built. That or Merrill accidentally poisoning them all like she'd almost done during that incident with the mushrooms. Hawke didn't fully remember what happened that night but she'd awoken sprawled across her kitchen table wearing nothing but Isabela's tunic with a very naked pirate lying atop her, Fenris and Anders spooning against the stove and Merrill draped across the chandelier. To this day nobody was sure how she'd managed to get up there. Aveline they'd found in full armour sleeping peacefully in Hawke's bed. Even high out of her mind the guard captain somehow managed to find herself a sensible sleeping arrangement.

The light on Hawke's staff flickered.

"Hawke..."

"It's all right," she assured Isabela.

She took in a deep breath and gathered the magic in her body. She pushed it towards her fingertips and then into the staff. The blue light grew brighter.

Then it flickered again. On. Off. On again. Duller than it had been before.

"Well that's odd," she said with a frown. She could still feel the magic pulsing around her body. Her energy levels weren't running low and her emotions weren't running high. She should have no problem maintaining a basic light spell. And yet...

"It's probably just the wind," said Varric, with a nasty look in Aveline's direction. She glowered back at him.

"Merrill, can you-" She turned around and then stopped abruptly. "Where's Merrill?"

* * *

Even though her staff shone just as brightly as before, the light didn't seem to reach the corners and edges of the room like it should have done. Merrill shivered. It felt like the darkness was fighting back, pushing her magic back towards her. She shot a glance at the door. She shouldn't be in here. She should turn around while she still had the chance. She could still hear Hawke talking faintly in the distance so she could easily catch up with her friends. But then...

She looked back at the mirror that had caught her eye through the open door they'd past. Nobody else had seemed to even notice the room, but Merrill had.

Masks hung from all four walls, their eyes reflecting back dull yellow light, while stacks of books and paintings rested on floor beneath them as if someone had pushed them all aside wanting to clear space in the middle of the room. She could hear the familiar squeak and rustle of mice, no doubt living amongst the discarded objects. Normally she'd have stopped to wonder where the rodents were getting their food from, but her mind was elsewhere.

She took a step forward towards the mirror and then stopped again. It was a big, plain sort of thing that touched the floor and reached to just a foot below the ceiling. With it's thin, tarnished silver frame it didn't even come close to being as ornate as her Eluvian. It was a different shape too. It reminded her a little of how the Eluvian had been back in Ferelden before it had been shattered and she'd been forced to begin rebuilding. The mirror that had started her on this journey in the first place. The one that had taken two of her dear friends. Maybe that's why she felt so drawn to it.

"Merrill..."

The voice was so faint that she could almost believe she'd imagined it. A light breeze brushed the back of her neck, not even strong enough to ruffle her hair. It was telling her to move closer to the mirror, she was sure, so she obliged.

She stared at the reflective surface, barely even noticing the thick spider web that hung down from the arch that ran along the top of it. She blinked.

"Merrill..."

Her breath came out with a short gasp. She knew it wasn't possible. She _knew_ it...but the voice that called to her, that somehow seemed to be pulling her in ever closer, sounded exactly like Tamlen. Sweet Tamlen who had confided in her that he intended to officially court Mahariel just as soon as the spring was over. Sweet Tamlen who couldn't wait that long and had admitted his love not long after that conversation. Sweet Tamlen who had been taken from them too soon. It wasn't fair.

She was too close to the mirror now, staring into her own expressive eyes. The masks on the wall began to rattle, but she didn't even notice. How could she? How could she pay attention to anything beyond the way the reflective surface began to shimmer. Merrill held her breath as a figure began to form beside her, but a quick glance to her left told her it was only happening in the mirror and not in the room.

Could this be another Eluvian? A portal maybe?

The figure was sharpening. Features became recognisable. A pointy toothed smile. A blur of blonde hair. Bright blue eyes. It _couldn't_ be.

Then another figure appeared beside that one. Merrill gasped. She pushed her hands hard against the glass in front of her.

"Mahariel?" she whispered. Tears blurred her vision but she could still see the face so recognisable form into that of her friend's. One of the masks fell off the wall, smashing loudly at the impact. "Tamlen?"

"We're here, da'len," said Mahariel. Tamlen smiled kindly with a hint of mischief just like he always had done and Merrill's heart ached at the familiarity.

"It's not possible," she said, blinking rapidly.

"It is possible," said Tamlen. That voice, always so self-assured was gentle as he spoke to her. "You know it to be true." Merrill shook her head. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew something wasn't right. Then Lyna Mahariel smiled at her and the thought drifted away.

"Just hold on. I can get you out of there," said Merrill. "If I can just get the mirror working..."

Tamlen shook his head. "No, da'len." His voice echoed. "You must join us here."

"But..." Merrill trailed off. Could she? Should she? She missed her friends terribly. Hawke wouldn't mind? Would she? Hawke definitely would mind. So would Isabela. "I don't think I can, Tamlen. Hawke needs me." Tamlen's smile fell.

"We need you too," said Mahariel. "You've already let us down once, Merrill."

Merril swallowed. Lyna wouldn't really have said that to her, would she? Before she'd died she had told Merrill it wasn't her fault. That she didn't blame her. Had that been a lie? "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to. I've been trying to fix things... "

"We know," said Tamlen. Sympathy oozed from his voice. "That is why you must come to us here."

"No I don't think this is a good idea," she stammered. Tamlen's mouth twisted into a scowl and the ground beneath her feet began to shake. She tried to push back from the mirror but her hands seemed glued into place. "Stop that!"

"It is your duty to return to us, Merrill!"

Her breaths came out in short, sharp gasps and she struggled to pull herself away from the mirror. She pulled at her magic, forcing it into the mirror in hopes of breaking it but it was no use. Something was blocking her.

"She said no."

She whipped her head around just in time to see Aveline barge past her, shield first.

The mirror shattered with an almighty _crash_.

Merrill fell to the ground, knees slamming hard into broken shards of glass. For a moment there was silence.

Then both Isabela and Hawke were on the floor beside her and two pairs of arms wrapped themselves around her torso. She began to sob into her hands.

* * *

Hawke looked over to her companions and shook her head in disbelief. Even Aveline seemed stunned by the bizarre event they'd just stormed in on.

"Shhh, it's all right, Kitten," said Isabela, gently stroking Merrill's hair. "We have you now."

The poor elf only seemed to cry harder at Isabel's words, turning her head and burying her face in the pirate's chest...Hawke could hardly blame her for that one.

"Does someone want to tell me what in the void just happened?" said Varric, his eyes wide and darting around the room. Hawke wished she had an answer for him. The smell of burning dust and sulphur in the air. Those figures in the mirror...dark shadows and glowing red eyes. Pointy white teeth gleaming in the blackness. And that voice...multi-tonal and angry. Hawke shuddered.

She patted Merrill once more on the head and rose to her feet. "I have no idea but perhaps we should...vacate this room just in case whatever it was comes back." She cast a look around; she wasn't sure what it had looked like before Merrill had decided it was a good idea to venture in here but she would bet money that it wasn't this. Nothing remained unbroken with shredded paintings in disarray and thick cracks running up the walls like dark spider webs had sprouted up from the floor. She bent down and picked up Merrill's staff. "Isabela?"

"I've got her," she replied. She began to usher Merrill to her feet, brushing broken glass from her clothes as she did so. Hawke looked away and shook her head.

"Well this all escalated very quickly," she said. Nobody replied, not that she expected them too. "Let's go."

After what she'd witnessed in that room the hallways and indeed the whole house felt a lot more ominous than it had done before. Hawke held up both hers and Merrill's staves as she led the way towards...she didn't even know. She'd seen a bedroom somewhere around here. That would do until they'd got Merrill to calm down enough to tell them exactly what had happened.

"I don't like this, Hawke," said Aveline. "We should leave and come back with more of a plan."

"We can't exactly plan for something before we know what it is we're planning against," she pointed out. Aveline hesitated.

"Perhaps we should bring Anders?" she suggested, much to Hawke's surprise. Anders had been acting very odd as of late and nobody (with the exception of Fenris) was more suspicious of it than Aveline. "He has a unique knowledge of spirits. Perhaps Justice knows something we could use."

"It's not a bad idea," Hawke conceded.

"It's the best idea I've ever heard," said Varric sarcastically. "Bring Blondie into the mix. He and Justice always calm things down."

Hawke paused. "Also a fair point."

They reached the room and Hawke pushed the door open gingerly with Merrill's staff. She poked her head inside and looked around. No floating furniture or murderous mirrors as far as she could see so she deemed it safe for the moment and led the group inside.

Isabela immediately pulled Merrill to the bed and sat her down on it. They both ignored the cloud of dust that rose from under their weight and Hawke knew better than to comment on it. Varric and Aveline stepped through the door and took a place either side of her. She allowed the awkward quiet to last only until Merrill's hiccupping sobs died down into a faint whimper.

"Merrill?" said Hawke. The elf sniffed loudly and lifted her head for just long enough to meet Hawke's eyes before looking away again. "Can you tell us what happened?"

"I don't know what happened." Her voice wobbled as she spoke.

"How did you get separated from us?"

Merrill shook her head. "I don't know. I thought I saw something...or someone...or maybe I heard something? I just knew I needed to go into that room."

"Did you think the mirror in there was an Eluvian?" asked Hawke, her eyebrows contracting. Even if that was the case she'd have thought Merrill would have just said so before wandering off alone.

"Not at first," said Merrill. She sniffed again and grabbed Isabela's hand between her own. "Then not at the end either. But it...they spoke to me."

"Who spoke to you?" said Aveline, a little more harshly than necessary. Merrill curled in on herself. "I mean..." she tried again in a softer voice. "Who did you see in the mirror? Was it somebody you knew?" Presumably Merrill hadn't been seeing the same incorporeal shadow monsters they all had.

"Yes," said Merrill. Hawke saw another tear run down her cheek. "My friends...Tamlen and Lyna. They were calling to me."

It took her a moment to summon up the memory, but Hawke then recalled the names. They were the elves Merrill had lost to the Blight before her clan had moved to the Free Marches. Hawke remembered something about the disease being brought on by the Eluvian they'd found in Ferelden, though Merrill insisted it could be avoided a second time around. She grimaced and resolved to keep an eye on her friend for the next few days...just in case. Assuming they got out of here alive, of course. She suspected it was too much to hope for that smashing the mirror had been enough to get rid of whatever entity it was they were fighting.

"Calling to you how?" asked Varric. He had begun to pace the small room, hands nervously reaching behind his back to fondle Bianca.

"I don't know," said Merrill with a deep sigh. She looked up then with red rimmed eyes. "I felt like I was in some sort of trance. Almost like I was possessed." Then at the look on Aveline's face she rushed to clarify. "I wasn't actually possessed though! I promise. I'm still not possessed either. I think I'd know if I was an abomination now. I just mean I felt like something was pulling me in and I felt like I couldn't do anything else until I went!"

"Hmm," said Aveline with no small amount of suspicion.

"Go easy on her, Big Girl," said Isabela. "Before you start throwing your weight around let's not forget that Merrill is the victim here."

Aveline rolled her eyes but nodded her head.

"So what's the plan?" asked Varric.

"Smash all the mirrors in the house?" Merrill suggested hopefully.

"Leave and come back tomorrow when we have a better idea what we're dealing with," said Aveline.

"Or we could just burn the whole place to the ground?" said Isabela. Everyone's attention turned to Hawke then and she raise an eyebrow.

"Why are you all looking at me? Do I look like the leader of this merry band of misfits?" she said, folding her arms.

"That wasn't funny the first time you said it eight years ago and it isn't funny now," said Aveline.

Hawke sighed and looked at Merrill. Her eyes were still glossy with tears as she toyed with Isabela's fingers. A way of distracting herself. "As much as I hate to admit it, I actually agree with Aveline." It was difficult to say who looked more surprised by that admission. "I know; I'm shocked too, but I have no intention of spending the rest of my night being terrorised by an angry house. What do you think, Varric?"

Though he didn't look overly happy at the prospect, Varric nodded his head once. "Fine. This place is giving me a headache anyway." Somewhere down the hallway a door slammed shut. "It's like it's trying to piss me off!"

"I'm not convinced we've given a house fire enough consideration," said Isabela. She stood up and pulled Merrill off the bed with her.

"We'll keep arson in our back pocket," Hawke assured her. "We might need it to get out the front door anyway. Let's not forget it took it upon itself to lock us in when we arrived."

Isabela groaned. "I'd forgotten about that. Well I suppose if magic doesn't work on it we can tip Aveline onto her side use her as the battering ram the Maker intended her to be."

"So help me, whore, I will break every bone in your body," said Aveline through gritted teeth. Isabela laughed in response. It was a laugh that very clearly said, 'I'd like to see you try'.

Time was marching on so Hawke handed Merrill's staff back to her, though she seemed reluctant to release Isabela's hand to hold it, and took a deep breath before leaving the bedroom. Hopefully she'd be able to remember her way back to the stairs from here because after Merrill went missing they all got a little turned around in the frantic dash to find her. Hawke pursed her lips and walked, in theory, back the way they came.

It all seemed to be going so well. Merrill had stopped crying. Aveline and Isabela had stopped bickering. Varric was...well actually Varric was still acting rather sullen which was concerning Hawke more and more. They turned down the hallway and Hawke almost cheered when she saw the staircase she'd been looking for. Then -

"Uh...Hawke..."

"What is-" Before she could finish her sentence something large and heavy smashed against the side of her head and the world turned dark.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

 **Haunted  
** _Chapter 3_

Marian's eyes blinked open and she groaned, immediately bringing up a hand to shield her eyes from the bright sunlight high overhead. Her head felt foggy and her thoughts muddled as she struggled to remember where exactly she was. She clenched her free hand into a fist and felt soft blades of grass slip between her fingers. Outside then, she concluded.

Dogs barked somewhere in the distance and Marian became aware of the pervasive smell of damp soil. It made her oddly nostalgic, though she couldn't for the life of her think why. It was hardly something special. The whole of Ferelden smelled like wet mud even in the height of a dry summer.

"There you are, Sister!" The voice was deep and masculine, with just a hint of a whine. Marian smirked.

"Here I am, Carver," she said. She pushed herself up into a sitting position and, eyes not yet fully accustomed to the light, looked around. Oh yes of course. She was on top of one of the hills surrounding Lothering. She'd often come here to think or to try out new spells in secret. There was a long view of the Korcari Wilds and the closer she ventured to the dark, foreboding woods the more an adventurer she fancied herself. "Is there something you need?"

The boy, or rather a man now, huffed and folded his arms across his broad chest. "Father and Bethany came home early. Mother sent me to find you."

Something in Hawke's chest clenched painfully and she frowned before shaking her head at herself. No more napping outdoors; whatever bizarre dream she'd been having out here had clearly messed with her head. "Surely that's good news," said Marian as she rose to her feet. "I understand your resting grump face is hard for you to control, but you could sound a little happier."

"I'm happy Father is home!" Carver protested. "I'm less happy that I got dragged away from the practice ring to search for the great and powerful firstborn. I've been wandering these hills for two hours now. Can't you just sleep in a bed like a normal person?"

"And take away an opportunity for you to complain? Perish the thought," said Marian with a grin. She linked an arm through his and he scowled at her. "Now, dear brother of mine, the weary travellers await my great and powerful presence. Escort me home, underling."

Carver shoved her away from him and off balance. "Bugger off."

She laughed, easily finding her footing and then hooked her arm around her brother's once more. This time he allowed it and the two began an easy walk back down to Lothering. It was a path Marian had travelled hundreds of times and without a thought she avoided every tripping hazard and pothole.

Sometimes she wondered what it would be like to leave the village she knew so well for more than a quick visit to somewhere with her father. Perhaps it was time to start thinking about making a name for herself elsewhere? Somewhere she might meet a pretty girl or a handsome man that could keep up with her. Lothering was wonderful if you didn't mind the smell of wet dog and the overwhelming brown-ness of everything, but the people were a simple sort of folk and Marian sometimes found them difficult to connect with. Then there was the fact that she'd already slept her way through most of the viable men and women in her age bracket. Although, having said that, there was a pretty red haired Lay Sister in the Chantry with sad eyes and a mischievous smile she had her eye on. Unfortunately Bethany was rather fond of the woman and Marian would rather not do anything to jeopardise that friendship. The girl already had so few companions due to her constant fear of discovery by the templars.

Bethany wasn't the only one who feared the templars of course.

The sun was beginning to set behind the hills now which meant Marian had been outside for longer than she'd thought. Though she'd never say so it had probably been a good thing that Carver had dragged himself out here to look for her or she'd have missed both her family's homecoming _and_ dinner. Unthinkable. Luckily, Lothering was already in sight and they were already close enough to hear the gentle bustle of merchants packing away their wares in the small market by the Chantry after a long day of work. Sometimes Hawke couldn't help but wonder how Lothering had recovered so quickly from the Blight.

She paused for a moment and furrowed her brow. Blight? No, that couldn't be right. Must have been another one of the recurring dreams she sometimes had about chains and blood and Qunari. The Fade was a strange sort of place.

As they passed the market Marian eyed a fat loaf of crusty bread on one of the tables, but Carver shook his head.

"No need. Mother has already prepared dinner for Bethany and Father's homecoming," he said.

"She always does think of everything," she replied with a fond shake of her head.

It only took them five more minutes to reach their small home at the other edge of the village. Somewhere in the back of her mind Hawke found it rather odd that it had taken so little time and indeed that it was already approaching evening when normally the walk would have taken an hour and it had barely been past midday when Carver had found her on top of the hill. She easily dismissed the thought, already forgetting she'd even had it in the first place, as they came to a brief stop outside the small thatched cottage.

Carver pushed past her and opened the door. She followed him inside, only to immediately be pounced on by her sister. She spat out dark hair that had somehow managed to stuff itself into her mouth.

"Hello to you too," said Marian with a laugh. "Did you miss me?"

"You know I did," Bethany informed her, pulling back from the hug. Marian gave her a once over, noting that while her younger sister seemed a little tired she seemed no worse for wear. Malcolm Hawke was a hard taskmaster when the mood took him, but he'd always had something of a soft spot for his youngest daughter so Marian hadn't really been worried he'd work the girl too hard. Now if it had been Marian herself it would have been a different story, though her snarky complaints of double standards often fell on deaf ears. Such was the curse of being the eldest child.

"I understand," said Marian solemnly. "I'd probably miss me too if I wasn't, well...me."

"How any of us cope without your constant presence is a mystery," said another voice behind her. Marian smirked and turned around, struck suddenly by an urge to throw herself into her father's arms and never let go of him again. Very odd. She wasn't normally one for sentimentality. Instead she swallowed the uncomfortable lump in her throat and offered her father a quick salute.

"It baffles me too," Marian agreed. "It's good to see you home and well, Father."

Malcolm smiled at her. "It's good to be seen home and well."

"Now if you could all stop fussing over each other Mother would like someone to set the table," said Carver, rather petulantly interrupting the family moment.

Marian sighed. "Duty calls," she said. Her father squeezed her shoulder as she moved passed him towards the small side room, containing nothing but a table and some chairs, that her mother affectionately referred to as 'the dining room'. Leftovers from Leandra's time as a rich snob, Malcolm had told her once.

The 'dining room' and in fact the rest of their little house smelled pleasantly of cooking meats and roasting vegetables. Marian picked up the small pile of plates and cutlery from under the chair furthest from the door and spread them out along the table. It had been some weeks since she'd been able to set the table for more than just she, her mother and Carver. The nostalgia of her whole family being together again hit her like a ton of rock, forcing her to pause for just a moment. She almost laughed at how absurdly maudlin she was feeling today. If only Isabela and Varric could see her now.

That thought was driven from her mind as her mother entered the room with a heavy pot of what smelled like stewed beef clutched between two hands. Before she could rush to assist, Malcolm appeared behind his wife to help and together they doled out food onto the five plates.

"That smells lovely, mother," said Bethany, entering the room with Carver trailing close behind.

"Thank you, sweetheart," said Leandra, smiling and her youngest daughter. "You two deserved something special after your trip."

"You're not wrong," said Marian. "I've been on one of those 'trips' before. Father can't cook to save his life. I mostly survive on berries and seeds hidden in my pockets."

"That was part of your training," said Malcolm, as he took his place at the head of the table. He spoke as though imparting great wisdom. "It taught you valuable survival skills, did it not?"

"I'm not sure learning to live without flavour in my food is paramount to my survival," said Marian. "Must we boil every single piece of meat until it's even paler than Carver?"

"Hey!"

"Apparently we must," said Bethany. "I asked him the same question a week ago."

They were all seated now and Marian took a small bite of her food. It tasted exactly how she remembered it. Cheap, chewy and packed with salt.

"And unless you want food poisoning that's how we're going to continue to cook," said Malcolm. He sighed and ran a hand over his greying beard as though very hard done to. Perhaps he was.

"It's a worthy goal I suppose," Hawke mused. "I still have nightmares from the night Merrill fed us all her 'mystery meat surprise'. The surprise, it turned out, was several days of vomiting and diarrhoea."

There was a short silence at that and Carver grimaced down at the food on his plate.

"Who's Merrill, darling? A new friend of yours?" asked Leandra.

Hawke frowned. "You know Merrill, mother. She's..." Who was she again? "Well she's somebody. She must work at the tavern."

"That's nice, dear," said Leandra with a rather bland smile.

"That's nice, dear?" Carver mimicked. "Whenever _I_ visit the tavern it's an endless lecture about responsibility and public appearances."

"In Mother's defence only one of us has ever become so blind drunk there that they accidentally set fire to a table and then was bodily thrown from the building by three burly men," Marian pointed out. Carver glared at her.

"And in Carver's defence," her father began sternly, "his older sister should have been taking care of him to make sure something like that didn't happen."

Marian opened her mouth to retort but guilt kept her from speaking. He wasn't wrong and it wasn't for Carver's benefit that the family had to remain clandestine.

"I don't need babysitting," Carver protested. His face flushed with anger and if possible his glower in Marian's direction hardened further. She hadn't seen him this angry since the day she'd considered leaving him behind just before the expedition into the Deep Roads. If only she'd followed her gut instinct that day and ignored his ire maybe things would have turned out differently. Carver wouldn't have...

Hawke's blood ran cold and she sat up a little straighter in her chair. From across the table Bethany put down her fork and looked at her with concern. Something in the atmosphere on the room changed and the hairs on the back of her neck prickled. "Is something wrong, Sister?"

"You look like you've seen a ghost," said Leandra. Her kind eyes were focussed completely on her daughter.

Hawke let out a quiet, pained laugh. _Shit_. "I rather think I'm seeing four of them."

She could see it now. The cracks in the fabric of reality. The way things looked like they could have done but not quite how they had done. The colours were brighter. Lothering had always been so _brown_ and their clothes had always matched it. Her mother certainly hadn't worn that delicate pink and purple number here as she had in the Amell mansion in Kirkwall. Bethany had never looked so old. Hadn't lived past eighteen. And her father...well he had died many years earlier.

"I don't know if I've mentioned this recently but I really hate the Fade," she said with an ironic little smile. Her family began to shift uncomfortably.

"Oh great," said Carver, slamming down his cutlery with enough force to rattle the plate in front of him. "What's wrong now? Not getting enough attention?"

Hawke sighed fondly. "Classic Carver."

The edges of her vision were beginning to dim and the wooden table beneath her fingers was smoothing out as though the Fade could no longer project how the textures of the room should have felt. Well, it had been nice while it lasted, she supposed. She rose to her feet.

"Sit down, Marian," said Malcolm. Her heart ached; she hadn't heard her father's voice in such a long time. Nobody but him ever called her by her first name. "You haven't finished your dinner."

"I'd love to stay and chat, Father," she said, "but as you know I must be going now. Places to go, people to see, demons to hunt down and punish for this little _escapade_."

Malcolm sighed and Leandra's eyes filled with tears. Of course. The Fade was nothing if not persistent. What fun. "Stay here, love," said her mother. Not her real mother though, Hawke reminded herself. "Let's talk about this."

"I've lived in that dump you call home now too," said Carver dismissively. "Surely your family is more important to you than that hole in the ground?"

"You know family means everything to me," said Hawke, and as she said it she knew how ridiculous it was to argue with these constructs of the Fade. Much like Anders and Fenris when they were in one of their moods, it wasn't as though the world of dreams could be reasoned with. "It's why you're all being used against me."

"And yet we are here and you're there," said Bethany. "Stay, sister. It can be like old times. That's what you want, isn't it?"

"Tempting though the idea of an eternity of Carver glaring daggers at me across the table is I'm afraid I'll have to decline." Hawke raised a hand to awkwardly scratch the back of her neck. "It feels a little odd saying this to my own imagination...or to whatever demon is toying with me...but it really was nice to see you all again."

The world around her was beginning to melt away now. The placid faces of her long dead family had twisted in anger and she looked away. She'd rather her last memories of them not be one of them glaring hatefully at her.

* * *

The musty smell of disuse and smoke were the first thing Hawke's conscious mind registered. Then came sound. Someone was pacing up and down the room and just out of her hearing two people were muttering. Unfortunately, the next sense she became aware of was taste. She swallowed against her dry throat and only just managed to prevent a cough as her fuzzy tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

Back to reality.

"Hawke?" A warm hand pressed itself to her forehead and then gently across her cheeks. "I think she's waking up."

The pacing stopped and she felt the soft vibrations through the floor of someone dropping to their knees beside her. "Hawke, if you don't open your eyes right now I will never have sex with you again!" That would be Isabela then.

Someone scoffed. "Liar."

"Now now," said Hawke. Or at least that's what she'd tried to say; it came out as a gurgled cough.

A strong arm wormed it's way under her torso and lifted her into a sitting position. "Take it easy," said Isabela. "Drink this." Before she could ask what 'this' was a mug of some sort was pressed to her lips. She opened her mouth and allowed the cool liquid to slide down her throat. Just water, disappointingly. She could really do with something a little stronger.

When the cup was taken away Hawke took a deep breath and forced herself to open her eyes. It took a few blinks before her eyes adjusted, but the room was dark so it wasn't as painful as it could have been. As it turned out it was Isabela holding her upright while Merrill hovered over both of them with a look of worry in her large eyes. Hawke blinked again and looked over to the side where Aveline and Varric where watching her carefully. A fire had been lit in the fireplace at the side of the room and the light from the flames flickered oddly over their faces, making them look tired and gaunt. She tried to smile at them but she was sure it came out as more of a grimace.

In the left-hand corner of the room, bizarrely, was a large, stationary golem with pale blue lyrium etchings on it's forehead and along it's shoulders. She eyed it for a moment.

It was then she noticed the deep throbbing in her head. She groaned and resisted the urge to reach back and feel the damage. At least it distracted her from the emptiness and disquiet in her heart.

"What happened?" she asked. This time her voice was much clearer and her companions let out a sigh of relief.

Then a hand shoved her hard in the shoulder and she almost fell backwards. "Ow!"

"You went and got yourself knocked out is what happened!" said Isabela. "Don't you ever do that to...Merrill again!"

"Isabela," Aveline scolded her, but the pirate ignored her.

"Don't tell me you were worried about little old me?" said Hawke. This time she actually managed that grin.

Isabela sighed and shook her head.

"Are you okay, Hawke?" asked Merrill. Her hands were clasped together and she fiddled with her own fingers. Both of their staffs sat propped up against the far wall, Merrill's adding brightness to the corners of the room that the firelight couldn't reach.

"Don't fret, Merrill," said Hawke. She straightened her back a little as though to prove it. "I'm fine. My head isn't bleeding is it?" Aveline shook her head. "No? Then yes, I'm fine. I'll be better after a stiff drink of course."

Varric snorted. "That can be arranged. Assuming we make it out of here in one piece."

"I like your optimism," said Hawke. "Now if someone could please tell me why I'm...am I lying on the floor? You couldn't have put me on the couch?" Isabela opened her mouth to answer. "Ugh...never mind."

"You were hit on the head by a rogue, flying vase," said Aveline, answering the question she truly wanted to ask. Her head gave another uncomfortable throb. "Does anyone else get the feeling that this house is toying with us?"

"I'm beginning to think it's no ordinary spirit," Hawke agreed. She cleared her throat and Isabela held the cup to her lips so she could drink again. "When I was unconscious I was in the Fade."

"You were asleep," said Aveline. She folder her armoured arms. "You're a mage. That's hardly noteworthy."

"She was unconscious," Merrill corrected, looking to Hawke for confirmation. "It's not the same and sleeping. I mean...I don't think it's the same. Were you dreaming, Hawke?"

She hesitated before answering. "Yes," she said.

And suddenly everyone's attention turned to her. Perhaps it had been something in her tone.

"A demon?" Aveline asked.

"I assume so," said Hawke. "A demon disguising itself as the entire Hawke clan at any rate."

"A family reunion? How sweet," said Isabela. Her tone was light but there was still a hint of concern in her eyes. It was touching, really. Both that she cared at all and that she cared enough try and lessen the emotional blow.

"Oh yes," Hawke drawled. "It was splendid up until the point I decided it was _probably_ time to leave. They didn't like that part. Very keen on my joining them in the warm embrace of the Maker's bosom instead."

While Merrill, Aveline and Varric seemed a little uncomfortable at this revelation, Isabela looked thoughtful. "Exactly how big was this bosom?" she asked.

Hawke let out a small laugh, not even caring at the flare of pain in her skull at the sound. "It wasn't nearly as impressive as yours," she said. "I wasn't tempted for even a moment."

"Right answer, sweet thing," said Isabela, pleased.

Now that Hawke had regained functionality again, she leaned forward from Isabela's supportive arm around her back. The pirate took the hint and released her, moving herself backwards to sit by Merrill.

Then with small movements Hawke began to stretch her aching limbs. She wasn't sure how long she'd been lying on the hard, stone floor but it hadn't done her old bones any favours. Obviously she was becoming _too_ accustomed to living the high life in the Amell mansion. Perhaps she could start spending more nights in the Hanged Man. She preferred it there anyway; it wasn't as quiet and certainly not as empty. The scent of stale piss and vomit wasn't ideal but after a while she barely noticed it.

"So," she began, after giving herself just long enough to gather her thoughts, "I have a horrible feeling I know what's going on here."

Her eyes met Varric's and he inclined his head into a nod. "I have a horrible feeling I've come to the same conclusion," he said.

A beat. "Well I'm glad that's settled," said Aveline sarcastically. "I don't suppose either of you would like to enlighten the rest of us? Or we can loiter here idly and wait for the 'ghost' to pick us off one by one I suppose."

"The idol," said Varric, confirming he was indeed having the same horrible thought that Hawke was having. "It's still in the house."

The idea had been niggling at the back of her mind for some time now but Hawke hadn't been able to fit the puzzle together until now. It had actually been Varric's strange behaviour that had clued her in. Nothing but forces beyond reckoning could have dampened his sense of humour.

" _Balls_ ," said Isabela.

"That...actually makes a lot of sense," said Aveline, though she didn't look happy by the revelation. "So what? We find it and get rid of it and all this goes away?"

"In theory," said Hawke. In practicality she had some doubts. Something told her the idol hadn't quite finished playing with them yet. "We could try hitting it first and see how that goes."

"I foresee this ending wonderfully," Varric muttered. He looked away and scowled. Still not anymore cheerful than he had been before Hawke took a sharp blow to the head then.

"I don't see how anything could possibly go wrong," Hawke agreed with a crooked grin.

"Does that mean we're not leaving anymore?" asked Merrill, disappointed. "I was rather hoping we could leave."

"Sorry, Merrill," said Hawke. She began to mentally steel herself for movement; right now standing up seemed like the more monumental task in her future than dealing with the red lyrium. "Now that we know what it is we're dealing with we can't leave it here for some unsuspecting looter to walk in on. I'm rather bored of chasing down mad people all over Kirkwall."

"You might have a concussion," Merrill pointed out. "Wouldn't it be better to rest first? You could be sick or faint again..."

"I don't have a concussion, Merrill," said Hawke patiently. She probably did have a concussion but that was neither here nor there. "I'm not slurring my words or anything."

The elf still looked sceptical but seemed to have no more complaints she wished to share. Honestly, if given the option Hawke would rather head home herself. Her head _was_ pounding something terrible and after her visit to the Fade she wasn't quite in the mood to traipse around this dusty old death trap. What she needed was some good old fashioned bandit hunting. Some mindless destruction and violence to sway her thoughts away from the less pleasant aspects of her existence that had been just been brought to the forefront of her thoughts.

Oh, well. She was sure Isabela would be _more_ than happy to help distract her once they were free and clear of this place.

"Are you okay to walk?" asked Aveline. She moved forward as if to help Hawke stand, armour clanking along the way, but Hawke held out a hand to stop her. She'd rather _not_ be dragged to her feet by her wrist if it was all the same.

"I'm sure I'll manage," said Hawke. Aveline shrugged her shoulders in response as Hawke rolled forward onto her knees and then struggled to her feet. The room swayed before her and for a moment she almost lost her footing. Then Merrill took hold of her elbow, giving her the time to orient herself.

"Well that was bracing," she said. "Time to move on?" When nobody indicated either affirmation or opposition Hakwe sighed. "Don't all shout out at once."

Isabela let out a disgruntled sort of noise and crossed the room to pick up both of the staffs resting against the wall. She threw them to the mages (Merrill almost dropping hers). "All right. Let's get this over with then. If I get hit in the head by flying crockery though I'm _not_ going to be happy."

"I'll make sure to put my own head between you and any projectiles that might be thrown our way," said Hawke. Isabela rolled her eyes but couldn't quiet stop the corner of her lip from twitching upwards.

"You shouldn't do that, Hawke," said Merrill seriously. "You've already been hit on the head once tonight. Another one might crack your...oh that was a joke, wasn't it? I'll shut up now."

"Oh, Merrill," said Isabela with fond exasperation.

It was Varric who finally decided they'd lingered long enough in the small room. He brushed past Hawke with his eyes cast down and his fingers tapping along to a rhythm nobody else could hear against his thigh and reached for the door handle.

"And here we go again," said Hawke ruefully.

Varric turned the door handle and pushed.

And nothing happened. He paused and looked back at the group, eyes meeting Hawke's for just for a second. Then he tried again, this time throwing his whole bodyweight into the heavy wooden door, shoulder first. It didn't budge.

"No!" Aveline protested. She marched forward. "We are not locked in this room!"

Varric dove aside just in time for Aveline to grab hold of the door and rattle it loudly. Hawke could feel a headache of epic proportion building up in the base of her skull. _But of course_. Aveline took a step back and then charged at the door, her metal casing crashing loudly against it, and still the door did not move. At this point Hawke wasn't even surprised.

"Maybe you're supposed to pull it," Isabela suggested. Aveline shot her a scathing look, but then attempted to pull the door towards her. Still no movement.

"Uh oh," said Merrill. Her hands twitched around her staff and she worried her bottom lip between her teeth. "I don't want to stay in here anymore."

"It isn't exactly at the top of my list either," said Varric. He stood stiffly beside the fireplace and Hawke tried not to notice the way the flickering light cast eerie, demonic-looking shadows across his face.

Another _crash_ as this time Aveline took two steps backwards and threw herself at the door with all her strength. Hawke flinched and reached up to pat her head gingerly. "All right that's enough!" she said.

Aveline stopped for a moment before smashing her fist into the door one more time. She turned around to look at Hawke with pure mutiny in her eyes. "I really hate this place."


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** Still making no profit from this.

 **Haunted  
** _Chapter 4_

"Stop pacing, woman!" said Varric. Aveline scowled at him and continued to stomp her way across the room and back again. Every once in a while she'd try the door again but so far to no avail. It was giving Hawke a headache. _Another_ headache.

It had taken the group about an hour of trying to escape before they'd given up and made their peace with the fact that they'd be staying in this Maker forsaken room for the foreseeable future. Magic hadn't worked, Isabela's lock picks hadn't worked and a loose bolt from Bianca hadn't worked. Brute strength hadn't worked either, much to Aveline's bewilderment and distress. Hawke had to wonder if this was the first problem the guard captain had ever failed to solve with strategic and applied use of force.

Honestly, the whole thing was becoming rather tiresome.

"How long do you think we have to wait before this damn house gets bored of us?" asked Isabela. The more time passed, the more on edge the pirate was becoming. Already she had hung one of the ever present old paintings back upon the wall and used it as target practice. She didn't need it; every one of Isabela's knives struck with deadly accuracy.

"You want to leave already?" asked Hawke. "I'm becoming quite fond of the decor. The cobwebs add a nice, homely feel to the room, don't you think? I'm thinking of adding some to the mansion."

Isabela's shoulders relaxed a fraction and she let out a slow breath. "Liar. You hate spiders."

"That doesn't mean I can't enjoy their revolting sticky, white entrails," Hawke replied. "I'm not sure Bohdan or Oranna will much care for them though..."

"Bohdan and Oranna would like anything you told them to like," Isabela pointed out. "You have the poor sods wrapped around your little finger."

Hawke inclined her head in agreement. "The worry would be Sandal using them in one of his _enchantments_."

"That little oddball does have a way with explosions," said Isabela. "Probably best to stick with the ingredients you _know_ he can't blow up."

"I think Sandal's explosions make things rather exciting," said Merrill. She was sat on the couch opposite them, being the only member of the five willing to touch the filthy material. She claimed it was no dirtier than the alienage, though Hawke wasn't sure she agreed. The floor, where she and Isabela sat, was no cleaner but at least they'd been able to brush some of the dust and grime to one side.

Aveline let out an annoyed snort. "You would."

"He could probably blow a hole in this door if we asked him too," said Merrill obstinately. "Then you'd like his explosions too."

Aveline paused for a moment. "You know what, Merrill? You're right. If Sandal unexpectedly shows up here in the next ten minutes to rescue us by blowing a hole in that door, I'll start supporting his experiments." She started to pace again. "But until that time comes I'm going to keep a healthy scepticism and keep my distance. Any my eyebrows."

"That was only once and Bohdan's eyebrows grew back eventually," said Merrill. "Even bushier than they were before too."

"The priceless heirloom hanging on the wall behind him didn't grow back," said Hawke. It had been a painting of a great-great-great-great-great-great aunt of Leandra's. Or something like that anyway. Honestly Hawke hadn't been listening when her mother explained the whole family tree to her. Beyond them being some sort of cousin to the Hero of Ferelden the Amell family held very little interest for her. She was a Hawke.

"Oh please," Isabela scoffed. "That painting was dreadful. She looked like a nug that had taken too many hits to the face. Sandal did you a favour."

Hawke smirked. "That is true," she conceded. "There is quite a family resemblance between us."

"You did take a beating from the ugly stick when you were born," Isabela said sympathetically. She patted Hawke on the cheek with a cold hand.

"It's a wonder you can stand to look at me," she said.

"Luckily you have other skills I can make use of..."

Aveline groaned. "Could you two keep it in your pants until we can get out of this mess? This is bad enough without you two ripping each other's clothes off. I've seen more than enough horrors for one day."

"I wouldn't mind," said Merrill with interest.

"Nobody is forcing you to listen, prude," said Isabela, rolling her eyes and stretching her arms out behind her head.

"There's five of us rammed into a tiny, locked room. Where, exactly, do you suggest I move to avoid it?" said Aveline.

Isabela paused in thought for a moment. "You could pull the stick our your arse and join in?" she suggested.

"We'll behave," said Hawke before Aveline could respond, but only because one of the few things that could actually make this situation worse would be another instalment of the Pirate versus the Guard Captain (naming things was really not her forte; she'd have to talk to Varric about it later). Besides, there were only so many times she could listen to the word whore before even she became weary.

"You're no fun," said Isabela. Then she sighed and leant back against the wall, eyes closed. "Wake me up when we're done here or if something needs a knife to the back."

"Duly noted," said Hawke, as she unconsciously reached up to rub the back of her head.

Enough time had passed now that the ache in Hawke's head had faded to a dull throb and exhaustion was beginning to set in. In retrospect they _probably_ should have done this during the day, or at least after an extra long nap. The soothing warmth of the fireplace and even the less than gentle thumping of Aveline's boots against the floor was beginning to lull her into a doze. At least Hawke hoped that was what it was; the alternative was that the... _idol_ was in there with them and trying to send her back to the Fade. She'd had quite enough of that if it was all the same.

Things could be worse for her though, Hawke mused, as her eyes drifted to where Varric leaned against the wall next to the fireplace. His arms were folded tightly across his broad chest and his face seemed to have frozen into a perpetual scowl. He hadn't cracked a smile once since they'd arrived in this forsaken dump and she was finding it most disconcerting. Was it possible the idol had a stronger effect on dwarves? It certainly took a hold of Bartrand fast enough. Or perhaps the lyrium sensed the familial Tethras blood and so dug it's claws into Varric out of some kind of twisted sentimentality. She was inclined towards the latter, which brought on a host of other unsettling theories and implications.

It was irrelevant anyway, she decided. She wouldn't let Varric be manipulated by the idol in the same way his brother had. To begin with to die in the same way as Bartrand would piss Varric off to no end, ironic or otherwise. Secondly, who would talk her up in the Hanged Man after this? Tales of her exploits always sounded so much more impressive when it was Varric who told the story. Isabela told her own version of events on occasion, but more often than not those tales took a turn down a more erotic path, extolling her sexual prowess rather than her skills on the battlefield. It was flattering but not necessarily what she wanted the other patrons of the Hanged Man to be thinking about when she entered the room. At least not most of the time.

"What?"

Hawke looked up at Isabela who was staring at her through narrowed eyes. "What what?"

"You said my name," she said.

Aveline stopped pacing and Merrill straightened on the couch. The temperature in the room seemed to drop considerably.

"Uh...I'm afraid I didn't," said Hawke. She glanced around the room and the other three shook their heads. Oh wonderful.

"Not funny, Hawke," said Isabela. Her back visibly stiffened and the hand that Hawke could see slowly clenched into a fist. "I heard you say my name."

"Nobody said your name," said Aveline.

"Well then what-" Isabela stopped talking abruptly and her eyes widened. She looked at the door. "Well...shit."

"What can you hear?" asked Varric. He took a step towards them with a look of what could almost be concern if it wasn't for the brewing anger that seemed to radiate from him.

For a moment Isabela didn't answer and her gaze didn't waver from the door. Then, distinctly paler than usual, she forced herself to turn away. "Nothing," she said unconvincingly. "I can't hear anything."

"Don't lie to us, Rivaini!" said Varric. "Tell us what you hear!"

"I already told you I don't hear anything," Isabela shot back. It might have been more convincing if her foot hadn't begun to tap rapidly against the floor. Before Hawke could point it out, Isabela herself seemed to notice and was up on her feet in a flash.

"Calm down," said Aveline in a tone of voice Hawke usually only heard her use with one of her guards, "and explain to us what's happening in your head right now."

Isabela rolled her eyes. Her foot began to tap again. Hawke recognised the symptoms for what they were: an oncoming storm of panic. "I am calm, Big Girl. _I'm_ not the one who has been pacing up and down the room all night like they're trying to wear a hole in the floor big enough to escape though."

"That's not the worst plan I've ever heard," said Merrill, interrupting the flow of the conversation for just long enough for Hawke to stand up and take her place beside the irate pirate...just in case of any unexpected violence. "Do you think that might work?"

"You're becoming hysterical," said Aveline dismissively. "Take a breath. Obviously the idol has decided it's your turn and we can only stop it if we stick together."

"I don't know if you've noticed, Aveline, but we're about as stuck-" She stopped again, head tilting to one side. "Shut up, already!"

"Isabela..." Hawke began, but the woman paid her absolutely no notice; instead marching over the door and reaching out to rattle the handle. Hawke sighed, expecting another angry session of bashing at the immovable wooden exit. Hopefully an outlet for her aggression would calm Isabela down enough that she'd tell her what exactly the idol was saying to her.

To Hawke's surprise, however, the door swung open even before Isabela's hand made contact with the handle.

The pirate barely even seemed to notice this bizarre occurrence before she stormed out the room, making a beeline towards...Hawke had no idea where she was going but she seemed to have a destination in mind if her determined gate was anything to go by.

There was a moment of awkward silence before everyone seemed to spring into action at once. Aveline's shield was up off the floor and attached to the strap on her back and Varric had crossed the room in what seemed like less than a second.

"We should go after her, shouldn't we?" said Merrill, already grabbing her staff and drawing magic in from the air around her. Then she nodded, as if to herself. "We should go after her."

Nobody noticed the golem in the corner of the room turn it's head towards the open door. Nor did they notice it's eyes light up a bloody red.

* * *

It felt like the walls were closing in on her. Trapping her within this dreadful place. No air. No light. No anything.

Isabela increased her pace, only dimly aware of Hawke somewhere behind her calling her name. No. She was done with it. She needed out and she needed out now.

Then she heard it again. The child's laugh. A giggle really, high pitched and manic and not quite human. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled and she shivered.

"Will you fucking stop that!" she said into the empty air. She huffed, becoming increasingly more angry as her breath came out in a puff of white condensation. She'd barely even noticed the temperature drop.

"Isabela..." A voice. Musical sounding almost. Definitely not Hawke's voice this time. In fact she couldn't even hear Hawke anymore. She tried to ignore it, feet pounding heavily on the ground. "Isabela. Come play with us."

And if that wasn't the creepiest damn thing she'd ever heard in her life she didn't know what was.

"Isabela?" The voice sounded sad now, if such a thing was possible. It made something clench uncomfortably in her chest, like a piece of string had been tied around her heart and someone was tugging at the other end.

"No!" she protested, still not slowing her pace. "I am _not_ in the mood for this."

In her haste to escape she didn't notice the way the rug she was rapidly approaching wrinkled and bunched before her creating small archways in the fabric. Her foot caught on the material and though she threw a hand out to steady herself she came up empty and crashed to the floor.

Pain shot through her right elbow all the way up to her shoulder as it collided with the ground and she let out a muffled yelp of frustration. A cloud of dust rose around her and she coughed. This damn house didn't know who it was messing with.

"Naishe...why won't you come and play with us?"

Isabela's blood ran cold. _No_.

She hadn't heard that name in years. Hadn't even thought it. It was irrelevant. Not her anymore. A few years earlier she'd bumped into a man in Llomerryn who had known her as a young teenager. He'd made the mistake of referring to her by _that_ name and so she'd made sure he could never utter the word again. If she had her way she'd make sure whatever thought it was a good idea to mess with her had the chance to taste the same cold steel he had.

Her breathing began to even out and she spat a mouthful of dusty saliva onto the carpet. "All right," she said, mostly to herself. "You want to play?"

Isabela pushed herself to her feet and looked around. Her eyes had adjusted to the lack of light, but she still couldn't see more than a few feet in front of her.

"Naishe..." More giggling.

She spun around, hands instinctively reaching behind her to draw her weapons. The voice had come from somewhere behind her this time. "Come on then!" she called, voice colder than the steel between her fingers. "Where are you, you little bastards!"

A light flickered just to the left of her vision. Another hallway. She must have missed it on her way past. Or it just hadn't been there before. Cold air whipped around her legs and Isabela swallowed against her dry mouth. She forced herself to move forward.

And where was Hawke? Surely she should have caught up by now. Isabela moved fast over short distances but Hawke's legs were longer. She'd feel a lot better about this if she had some backup.

Isabela readjusted her grip on her daggers. She could hear something else now. Something that wasn't just the childish laughed that seemed to pierce what was left of her very soul. It was a sort of tapping. Or no...something bigger than a tap. A rhythmic thud as though something was hitting the floor over and over again. Or maybe a wall? She paused for a moment and tilted her head towards the sound, but it's source became no clearer.

She once more began to creep forward, mentally willing herself to move. All the bravado and anger she'd felt when the ghost had began to call her name...the name her bitch of a mother had given her that was...had already started to fade leaving her feeling sickly and vulnerable. Was this had Merrill had felt when the mirror had called to her? Should she turn back and try to find the others again? Would the creature even let her? She licked her lips, not once breaking her stride despite her thoughts now turning in the opposite direction.

The floorboards beneath her feet creaked loudly even as she moved with as much stealth as she could. Even if she'd wanted to sneak up on her tormenter the house wouldn't allow it. She _knew_ she should have stayed in the Hanged Man today. Many years of pirating and treasure hunting had taught her that the second a curse entered the equation she needed to run in the other direction. Better to be safe than sorry. Unless the booty was really worth it, in which case screw the damn curse. Today, though, she was getting absolutely nothing out of this little excursion. Hawke should have let her stay welded to her barstool.

She was so wrapped up in her own dark thoughts she didn't even notice the small movement beneath the table she was quickly closing the distance on.

She felt it when a small, bony hand shot out and wrapped it's fingers around her ankle though.

"Shit!"

Her instincts kicked in before her brain had a chance to catch up. The table was flipped to the side with an almighty crash and the person on the other end of that hand was dragged up and pressed hard against the wall with a knife to her throat. Isabela snarled and the woman quivered beneath the fierce gaze.

"You have three seconds to explain yourself before I start cutting," she said, pushing the knife just deep enough into the woman's skin to draw a bead of sticky, red blood.

The woman whimpered out a shrill cry. Her yellow eyes gleamed with tears that looked almost red in the candlelight coming from the sconce on the opposite wall. Whether that had been lit before Isabela had discovered this infiltrator she had no idea.

"Three...two..."

The woman opened her mouth, eyes darting around the corridor fearfully.

"You're not supposed to answer when they call your name," she whispered.

Isabela blinked, trying to desperately ignore the way it felt like her heart had turned into a murky block of ice trickling freezing water down into her stomach. The woman shook before her and for the first time Isabela noticed her filthy white and bottle green dress and limp greasy hair. How long had she been here?

Was she even real? Merrill's people hadn't been real.

Her head was starting to feel fuzzy again and she was sure if she listened hard enough she'd be able to hear those voices calling that _name_ to her again. Her grip around the woman's wrist loosened and she pulled her dagger back a fraction. "Who are they?" she asked. Then she pushed the knife forward again, causing the woman to gasp. "I'll know if you're lying."

Tears ran down the woman's cheeks. "I don't know, miss! I'm trapped in 'ere same as you. You've got to get out! Before it comes back!"

"Before _what_ comes back?"

But the woman was inconsolable now. Moisture dribbled from her nose and eyes and Isabela let her go in mild disgust. Before she could say anything else the woman took off like a bolt from Bianca down the hallway and back in the direction Isabela had come from. Assuming she hadn't imagined the whole thing the woman would probably run into Hawke at least. Maybe she could get some sense out of the wretched thing.

"Naishe..."

 _You're not supposed to answer when they call your name._

She walked towards the voice.

Something must have been suppressing her well honed sense of self-preservation because this already fell into the top ten dumbest things she'd ever done.

And where was everyone else right now? The house was big, but Hawke should have found her by now. The idol must have been blocking them from getting to her somehow. She rolled her eyes. If she didn't get the best sex of her life later because of this she was going to be furious.

A shadowy figure streaked across the corridor. She shrieked.

"Very funny!" she shouted into the darkness. Her voice shook and her heart pounded. Hopefully the demon lyrium couldn't tell. She was a lot less frightening to enemies when they could see her shaking in her boots. "Stop playing games and come out and face me!"

The figure ran across the hallway again and this time she managed to keep her mouth shut. It was short, like a child, bit without any of the features. A shadowy mass that hadn't quite worked out the details yet but knew the basic form to take. The hairs on her arms stood on edge as she altered her direction towards the closed door the 'child' had ran through.

If her gait slowed down the closer she got to the entrance it was nothing but a coincidence. She was just tired after her long day.

She could hear the childish giggle again. At first coming from the room she was heading towards, and then from behind her. She spun around, weapons at the ready, but there was nothing there. Nothing except a few floating vases anyway. Isabela eyed them, not allowing herself to be cowed by the same trick twice, and then turned back around. She'd just have to keep her ears open for any sudden movement. She wouldn't put it past those things to dive bomb her while her back was turned. Red lyrium didn't play fair.

"Time to play, Naishe..." The voice singsonged in her head.

She licked her lips. That's right. It _was_ time to play.

The door got closer and she reached out, half expecting it to swing open before she'd even touched it. It didn't, so her trembling fingers wrapped around the dull, brass handle. She took a deep breath and then pushed.

A flash of bright, pink light temporarily blinded her and with one hand she shielded her eyes as she took a step into the room. Her other hand she kept firmly gripped around her knife, poised and ready and shining silver in the glow.

More giggling then. Louder this time and so close. Isabela blinked and held her breath as her vision came back into focus. When her sight returned she almost wished it hadn't.

There were two of them now. Two children sat with crossed legs formed from shadow and a void of endless darkness. Her feet were rooted to the floor and she tried to swallow but her mouth and throat were parched. Instead she was forced to watch as the two 'children' began to roll what looked like a ball of smoke between them.

The room was suddenly stiflingly hot and beads of sweat began to form of her brow, soaking into the bandana tied around her forehead. The vases that had been floating in a vortex behind her flew into the wall and smashed loudly on impact. The shadow children didn't even seem to notice. Instead, they began to sing in voices that Isabela couldn't have dreamt up in her worst nightmares. Multi-tonal; low and mechanical and yet somehow high and sickly at the same time.

"Ring a ring o' roses..."

It was a song she'd sung as a child with some of the homeless children in one of the villages she and her mother had visited. She couldn't remember which one it had been exactly, but it had been one ravaged by plague just a year earlier. A plague that had killed over half it's population and decimated the population of several other villages within striking distance.

"A pocket full of posies..."

 _Fuck._

She'd made a huge mistake.


End file.
